Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“What kind of a situation are we dealing with here?” Della asks. “I know a lot of people who can do a lot of things privately, if you catch my drift.”
Scottie and I make eye contact and fight a grin.
“No, nothing like that,” Cricket says, raising her head from my shoulder. She wipes her face with the back of her hand. Mascara streaks her skin. “Oh, damn it. I’m a mess.”
Scottie grabs a tissue and hands it to her.
We take our seats as Cricket straightens herself up.
“Peter is spending lots of time in the office,” she says, sniffling. “When he’s not, he’s golfing or barely being civil to me.”
“Is he stressed?” Scottie asks. “Is everything going okay at work?”
“I don’t know because we never get that far into a conversation without him being rude and me walking away.”
Della sighs. “Fine. I’ll ask it. Do you think he’s fucking someone else?”
“Della,” I say, my mouth hanging open.
“Well, we haven’t been intimate in . . . a while,” Cricket says, fighting tears again. “I don’t think he’d have an affair, but I think that’s what most people believe when their spouse starts sleeping with their assistant.”
I take a drink of my lemonade and listen to Cricket and our friends banter back and forth. It’s easy to forget the trials of marriage when things are going fine or you’re out of one . . . and your ex-husband is dead.
All the arguments that Chris and I had come back to me. His long hours at the office. My irritation at being touched after having been handled by a toddler all day. My gas tank being empty when we took my van somewhere as a family.
Despite all that—despite our conflicts and the nights we stayed up late arguing and the long days struggling to make it, praying for him to come home—it was worth it. Every bit of it was worth the energy. Even though it ended in divorce, I’m glad I fought for it every time until it was clear we weren’t meant to be.
“What do you want to do?” I ask, cutting back into the conversation.
“I don’t want a divorce, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Cricket says.
Della smiles. “Then this is where I come in.”
“Oh, God,” Cricket says under her breath.
“You can’t pay for this level of experience,” Della says, undeterred. “Do you want my help or not?”
“Be easy with her,” I say, laughing.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to hear you out,” Cricket says. “I am on the verge of desperation.”
“I’m going to ignore that.” Della lifts a brow. “Let me break this down into the simplest form. The way I see it, and I’m basically an expert in this arena—Peter needs to have sex to have a connection. You, on the other hand, need to have a connection to have sex.”
Wow. That makes sense.
“I feel like I should take notes,” Scottie teases.
Cricket watches Della with rapt attention. “Go on.”
“I’ve said it a million times: men are simple creatures,” Della says. “But it’s not because they’re emotionless barbarians. It’s because most women don’t understand them. You’re fighting or there’s a communication issue or whatever it is, and you withhold sex because you don’t feel connected to him. Or he stops fucking you because he’s pissed or hurt, and then he stops feeling connected.”
“Peter and I haven’t fucked, as you so eloquently put it, since before I got Botox and stretch marks,” Cricket says, her jaw locked. “That puts us having fun sex at a solid sixteen years ago.”
Scottie’s wide eyes meet mine over the glasses of lemonade.
I didn’t think Peter and Cricket had a wild love life, but I didn’t expect it to be nonexistent either. She always paints a picture of a healthy sex life and seems satisfied. She even says they have sex several times a week. So, this? This abject desolation written on Cricket’s face? It’s as shocking as it is heartbreaking.
My heart aches for the loneliness Cricket must be feeling. I know it well. But a certain handsome, somewhat irritating man is helping me fix that.
Della stands. “Where is Peter now?”
“Golfing.” She spits out the word. “Why?”
“We’re going to your house to pick out the sexiest lingerie you own.” Della looks Cricket up and down. “Or we’re going to go buy some.”
Cricket’s face grows red, but she surprisingly doesn’t object.
“Then you’re going to get hold of his assistant and find out when he has an opening in his schedule,” Della says. “You’re going to have her pencil in a fake name for a full hour.”
Cricket swallows so hard I can hear it.
“You’re going to wear that with a trench coat over it,” Della says, grinning mischievously. “And surprise him at work.”
“I can’t do that,” Cricket says, squeaking.
“You can. And you will,” Della says. “Make that connection. Show him what he’s missing—what you need.”